


This Is Not A Love Story

by CMRandles



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Pining, Steve isn't always a nice guy, Taunting, Tony pokes the dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMRandles/pseuds/CMRandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because they cannot fuck, they fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Not A Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: You guys! I'm officially a published author! Woo! If you want to check out my book you can find it here: https://www.cmrandles.com/books (it's chock full of juicy romance and gay porn, I promise!)

He picks up dark-haired men in bars and treats them terribly. For the most part they don’t seem to mind. Some of them probably recognize him, but he doesn’t worry about that. Because, really, who would believe them? “Captain America dragged me into an alleyway behind the White Eagle and used my mouth for a quarter-hour” - yeah, _sure_ he did, Mary.

When this cycle of self-destruction began he promised himself that he wasn’t going to fuck anyone. Blowjobs, sure. Handjobs. Stay in the ‘job’ area. But then one day he is angry and the clumsy oral being applied to him in the backseat of a Camero is not sufficient. He needs to _take_. It is imminently satisfying to close his eyes and imagine it is someone else entirely that he is brutalizing with his cock.

He doesn’t let himself lie about it anymore. He started out ending every encounter with the words “this is the last time”. Now he knows that he will not stop, cannot stop. This is the only way to keep his hands off the real object of his attention, the fascinating maddening creature who exists constantly in his orbit. It’s the only way to keep them both safe and comfortable.

He returns to his apartment in the middle of the night stinking of sweat. His neighbor, the one everyone is always riding him about, is playing classical music very loudly behind her closed door. He pauses for a moment in the hall, listening. It isn’t a tune he recognizes, but it makes him sorrowful to the very core of his being. Everything feels terrible. Irretrievable. Broken. He goes inside and wishes he had let the boy he fucked tonight come home with him after all. He desperately needs another hit.

 

Tony Stark is standing before an array of diagrams, considering them with his hands on his hips.  There is an unconscious tension coiling his shoulders, straightening his spine. It’s what always happens when he and Steve Rogers are in a room together. Things have never been easy between them, no matter how much they both try to pretend.

“Garbage,” Tony announces. “Utter rot. Who did this to you?”

Steve grimaces. “It may not be up to _your_ exacting standards, but it was the best SHIELD-”  

“Give me a break,” Tony cuts him off, swiping viciously at the screen and sending fluorescent schematics tumbling. “This is a page-one rewrite. No question. You were right to come to me with this. JARVIS, start taking measurements for Capsicle here.”

“Hold on,” Steve says, stepping forward with his hands out. “I thought we were talking about improvements to the suit, not--”

“Cap. This is a mess. There is no saving it. The patient is terminal. They’re flatlining. You need to let it go. It’s a brand new era. I’m going to hook you up, my friend.”

A thrill runs from Steve’s neck to his groin. Just that one word.

“You don’t have to,” he says weakly, not recognizing his own voice.

Tony shrugs. “I’m between world-saving gigs right now and with Pepper running the company I have a lot more time on my hands for my own nonsense anyway. Might as well help out my fellow man, since apparently that’s what I’m all about these days. Besides, this getup is goofy as fuck. They’ve still got the little wingalings attached to your helmet, for God’s sake. As much fun as it would be to have the villains of the universe laugh themselves to death it seems like not the most efficient path to victory.”

“Captain Rogers, I will need you to stand with your arms and legs spread,” JARVIS interjects politely. Tony smirks.

“Measure that inseam twice, J. I want to see if the rumors are true.”

Steve can feel his face getting hot, anger spiking with frightening ease. He grits his teeth against the insults he might volley back in return and spreads his arms and legs like someone preparing to do a jumping jack.

“How is Pepper?” Steve asks, his voice casual and friendly. It just barely conceals the heat-seeking missile he has loosed.

Tony is back at the screen moving things around, typing furiously, and does not immediately acknowledge the question. “Fine,” he says in a way that means absolutely _nothing_ is fine. This sends another electric shock through Steve’s traitorous evil body.

“That should be sufficient. Thank you, Captain,” JARVIS says and Steve jumps out of the uncomfortable position. Tony is no longer acknowledging him, having turned his attention to the task at hand. He stands awkwardly for a moment, waiting to see if anything is going to happen and knowing that this is his cue to leave. But he won’t. Not yet. Tony is still winning by the very narrowest of margins and he can’t leave until that is resolved.

He approaches Tony from behind, moving well inside his personal space. They are not touching. The tag of Tony’s t-shirt is sticking up in the back. There is a smear of something dark, perhaps oil, across his neckline. He smells expensive.

“Not to step on your process,” Steve says in a low voice from far too near, “but I can’t help thinking I ought to have some input.”

Tony starts and moves away from him immediately, covering his escape with an expansive welcoming gesture. “Be my guest,” he says, then clears his throat.

Steve steps up to the screen and leans in, his brow furrowed. He cannot make sense of anything before him. Tony takes pity and reaches in front of him, tapping a few keys. Their arms touch. They both know it.

“You tend to make most of your hits in the chest, so we need to focus reinforcement primarily on that area. Lightweight armoring is what’s called for there, something flexible enough to give you total freedom of movement, but that’ll block most of what comes at you. I have some thoughts, though most of them are illegal.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Steve says, surprising Tony into laughter.

“Yeah, right. Anyway, speed and coverage are the name of the game. Plus, you need to look like you belong in the twenty-first century. Clean lines. Keep the military theme, but streamline everything.” Tony is now reaching around him, moving things on the screen, drawing with his fingers in the air. “We can keep the stars and stripes if you want.”

“I’m not as attached to them as most people think.”

“Mmm,” Tony hums thoughtfully. His dark eyes are intensely focused, flickering around to different spots on the screen. His hands are dancing. He is beautiful. Steve watches him for as long as he thinks he can get away with it.

“That all sounds great,” he acknowledges. “I owe you one.”

“Oh,” Tony says lasciviously, “you owe me way more than _one_.”

He is trying to provoke a reaction, and it works. Steve hates hates hates how well that always works.

“Come back in a week, Cap. I’ll have something for you to try. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to call if there’s some sort of global disaster. It’s been too long since we got the band back together.”

“I thought you weren’t a team player?” Steve teases and is surprised when Tony looks suddenly very sad.

“Yeah, well, turns out it’s better than not being a part of anything at all.”

 

Steve meets a guy at the bar that night whose hair is dark and long, curling at the end. He has already decided to have him when the guy says that his name is “Tony”. Steve takes him back to his apartment, something he had also promised himself long ago he would never do, and fucks him three separate times through the night. The first time he breathes the word “Tony” while his dick is getting sucked it sends a bolt of erotic energy coursing through him. He says it over and over after that, moaning it with every breath, shouting it when he pounds his cum into the faceless man whose hair he is grabbing onto like a lifeline. He wonders if the woman next door can hear him fucking Tony through the mattress and experiences another dizzy thrill. Perhaps now that door will be closed to him as well.

Not- _Tony_ -Tony wants to cuddle. Steve obliges him for a moment, then rolls over and feigns sleep when he starts talking about decorating his apartment and the recent Knicks game. Steve hardly recognizes himself when he acts this way, knowing he is an unforgivable prick but knowing no other way to get by.

 

Because they cannot fuck, they fight. Steve starts it this time. The body armor Tony has designed for him is a work of genius, attractive and functional in every way, but Steve still finds a flaw and picks at it. He knows Tony will get defensive. Bruce Banner is there in Tony’s workshop, partnering with him on some scientific project, and he studiously avoids looking at either of them as they trade insults, their argument gathering intensity.

“Next time why don’t you just design your own armor,” Tony sneers.

“I never asked you to do it in the first place!” Steve shouts back.

Oh, it feels so satisfying to yell in Tony’s face, to see his cheeks color and his eyes darken. Perhaps he looks similar when overcome with arousal, eyes wide and pupils dilated. Steve’s cock is getting hard.

“Well, you can’t use the old one - I incinerated it.”

“Of course you did. You are the most irresponsible--”

“Oh, I am?! You’re the one who--”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Steve announces, turning his back.

“Are you hearing this?!” Tony cries, involving Bruce in the proceedings for the first time. Banner merely shrugs, the universal body language for: _please don’t drag me into this._

 _“_ You know, that’s fine. That’s perfect. Because I’m throwing you out anyway, you ungrateful son of a bitch,” Tony says dismissively.

“Fine by me,” Steve shoots back and stomps out the door, slamming it behind him so hard that the glass shatters.

Thirty minutes later Steve’s phone rings and he gets the call that the Avengers are needed. It is not exactly perfect timing.

 

“Focus on evacuation,” Steve shouts into the comm unit embedded in his helmet. The helmet Tony designed for him. “We need to clear three blocks from 6th street outward in all directions. Widow and Hawkeye, that’s your focus. Tony--”

“I know, I’m the bomb-sniffing dog,” came the other man’s voice in his ear, tight and aggravated.

Someone has buried a bomb beneath a health clinic in Manhattan. An anonymous tip was called in to SHIELD detailing the location of the bomb, but no other information. Steve smells a trap, but cannot think of another way to proceed except to take the threat seriously.

“Bruce, stand by.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, Cap,” he answers.

Steve is running, shouting at people to clear the area. He glances up when Tony streaks overhead, flying straight towards the clinic.

“Where’s Thor?” Clint asks.

“Not here,” Tony answers simply.

“Still on Asgard, I think,” Natasha answers more completely.

“Too bad, we could really use some lightning and thunder right now, draw people away from the area.”

“Great idea, birdbrain,” Tony snipes, “let’s cause all kinds of electrical disruptions near an active bomb site. It’s a wonder you haven’t been awarded a nobel prize yet. Who do I have to write to for that to be remedied?”

“Enough,” Steve breaks in. “What are we looking at, Stark?”

“There’s definitely something down there. Can’t tell what or how big yet.”

“Something is off about this whole situation,” Natasha observes. “Be careful.”

“Well, I was planning to stomp around and fire indiscriminately into the dark, but I guess since you asked so nicely.”

“Who pissed in your Wheaties?” Clint asks sourly.

Tony does not answer him. Instead, he says, “I’ve got some scans of the device but it’s...not something I’ve ever seen before. It looks like it has some kind of remote trigger.”

“It can be detonated from--” Steve starts, but is interrupted by a massive explosion. Iron Man, above him, is engulfed in flames. Steve is blown back a full city block and tossed like a rag doll into a parked minivan. In his head the world is chaos. Everyone is shouting over static.

“Stark, report,” he wheezes, crawling out of the wreckage.

Down the street, what is left of the clinic and the surrounding area is on fire. There is no sign of Iron Man.

“Stark!” he repeats. There is a burst of static on the line and then nothing. “Hawkeye, Widow?”

“We’re here,” Clint responds immediately. “Heading your way.”

“Are you alright?” Natasha asks.

Steve considers. His right arm is in agony, probably broken, but the rest of him seems mostly intact. He is starting to get his wind back, running now instead of staggering. People are running past him, screaming, injured, and all he feels is panic.

Static crackles in his ear and a small voice, far away, says, “It’s me.”

Steve stops, flooded with relief. “Where are you?”

“Under...something. I’m okay. Well, no, actually, I’m not okay. But I’m alive.”

“I’m coming,” Steve says and runs into the flaming wreckage. “Hulk, we might need you for this one.”

“On my way,” Bruce responds.

“Hawkeye and Widow control the crowds, get people to safety. I’m going to find Tony.”

The fire is cooking him, roasting him alive inside of the new body armor Tony made for him. He picks through the wreckage, scanning, looking everywhere he can for a flash of metallic red. “Tony!” he shouts.

“Here!” comes the weak reply from a few feet away. The entire building has collapsed on Tony, burying him. His head is free, though, still inside the armor. There is a huge crash and Steve looks up to see Hulk taking apart their surroundings piece by piece.

“Can you move?” he asks Tony.

“No,” he replies in a weak voice. “And...we’ve got a bigger problem. There was...localized EMP. I’m...the…”

Steve heaves, lifting a steel girder off of Tony’s chest. It is hot enough to burn his fingers through the gloves. He throws it aside. When he looks down he feels a bullet of dread. The light in the center of Tony's chest has gone dark. 

“The arc reactor,” Steve breathes, falling to his knees beside the immobile body of his teammate. “What...?”

“Knocked it out,” Tony says, his voice trailing into a faint whisper. “I need to get....to the lab. Get Bruce.”

Bruce, who is currently green and tossing the place, did not look to be in any position to help. “Iron Man is critical,” Steve reported, his voice shaking, “we need medical here right away and...someone try to get Bruce back. We need him _now_.” He lifts Tony, singed and crushed and smudged, into his arms and starts running.

 

Things are touch and go. They get Tony out of the suit, Steve using his bare hands to rip the individual pieces away. Bruce comes back to himself, but it takes far too long. Steve doesn’t even know if he should attempt CPR - how do you force an electric heart to start beating again? Mostly, he just stands there feeling angry and frightened and useless. Clint and Natasha help get the wounded terrified people of the city into the proper care and then they join him, standing on the street and watching as Bruce works with what little they have.

“What happened?” Clint says quietly.

“EMP,” Steve answers. “I think...it was all a setup to get to him.”

Natasha shakes her head. “I’ll bet the bomb was triggered to blow based off of the electrical signal of the arc reactor. Whoever set it up knew Tony would go in first.”

“He always does,” Steve says and clenches his fist.

 

When the light on Tony’s chest comes back on Steve experiences such a sense of relief that he sways on his feet. The light gutters, flickers, and then starts going strong. He expects Tony to wake up immediately, come back to himself, but this is not what happens.

“I got it back online,” Bruce says wearily, still shirtless and covered in soot. “But Tony’s going to have to work on it. There’s a lot I don’t understand.”

“Tony?” Natasha says, bending down and touching his face. He doesn’t move.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Clint says. “Is he breathing?”

Bruce puts his fingers at the pulse point in Tony’s neck. “He’s got a pulse.”

Steve stares at Tony’s chest, sees it rise and fall steadily. “He’s breathing.” Steve kneels at Tony’s other side and touches his arm.

Tony gasps like a drowning man, his eyes fly open and he sits up so fast that he and Steve nearly knock heads. He grabs at his chest, fingers scrabbling across the metal and glass embedded in its center. He looks at Steve with wild eyes. “I thought I died.”

“You almost did,” Natasha says.

“Pulled you out from the jaws of the abyss,” Clint agrees.

Steve just looks at him, overwhelmed.

“We need to get you back to base,” Bruce says. “So you can get a real idea of the damage done to the reactor and make the necessary repairs. I did what I could, but it’s held together with chewing gum and duct tape.”

Tony looks at Bruce with such gratitude it makes Steve’s chest tight. “Thank you,” he says weakly and starts trying to get to his feet. Steve jumps up and helps him.

“The armor...I had to…” he gestures to the pieces lying all around them.

Tony shrugs. “Deal with it later.”

“Can you walk? Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Tony sighs, but accepts Steve’s arm around his shoulders all the same. “I’ll start feeling better when we figure out who tried to murder me.”

“Me too,” Steve agrees.

 

Tony does not stop to take a shower, does not eat, does not drink the glass of water Steve sets before him. Tony works. He takes out the arc reactor, leaving a gaping and unsettling hole in his chest. He replaces it with a backup, an older model that doesn’t glow so brightly, while he works on the current version.

Steve stands by and watches, not sure what to do with himself. He takes off his gloves which are burned beyond being useful along with his helmet and sets them aside. Looking down, he observes that the rest of his new outfit is pretty trashed as well, streaked with soot and burned in several places.

“Do I have to send this to a special dry cleaner?” Steve asks.

Tony looks up, smiles crookedly. “I thought you didn’t want it.”

“Changed my mind, I guess.”

“Just leave it here. I’ll make the repairs.”

Steve takes a step forward. “We need to talk about what happened today.”

Tony sighs through his nose, puts down the tiny instrument he is working with. He turns, arms crossed, ready for an argument.

“Natasha thinks that whoever set up that bomb they were targeting you.”

Tony nods. “Sure. Not like an EMP blast would take out anyone else on the team.”

“Who do we know that might be after you?”

Tony actually laughs at this. “Are you serious? There’s a list as long as my arm, Cap.In this rather short life I’ve made a considerable number of enemies. I couldn’t even tell you where to start.”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. It comes away streaked with black. “Well, give it some thought. We need to start getting to the bottom of this.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to lecture me?”

“About what?” Steve asks irritably.

“About rushing into the situation, going off half-cocked, et-cetera. The usual _blah blah blah_ you give me at this point.”

“Would it do any good?”

Tony shakes his head.

“Then why bother?” Steve turns, then hesitates. “I thought you were dead. When you didn’t respond. And I knew I was the one who sent you in there, like I always do, to check things out. You’re always the first one in, Tony. That’s who you are.”

 

A few days later, they are fighting again. They have pinned down a cell of bioterrorists that seem to be involved in the bombing at the clinic that nearly killed Tony Stark. They are headquartered in South America and the team is packed into the jet heading down when the fight breaks out about how best to proceed.

“Shock and awe,” Tony says. “Break down the door and fill the place with gas. Ask questions later.”

“We don’t even know what we’re working with,” Steve shoots back. “We’d be going in there completely blind! We need intel first.”

“If we wait, they’re going to get away,” Tony insists. “They probably already know we’re on to them. These people are sophisticated and tech-savvy. They’ve got crawlers everywhere.”

“That doesn’t mean we burst down the door like the SWAT team.”

“Better we should skulk around for a while first and make _sure_ they see us coming,” Tony grouses.

“It’s not your call, Stark. You’re too close to this,” Steve insists.

“Maybe, but we’ve only got one shot at getting this right and I don’t want to see you fuck it up.”

Steve steps forward, his posture all aggression and fury. Natasha puts a hand on his shoulder from behind, gently encouraging him to back off.

“Let’s split the difference. Take a look, get the lay of the land, and then if they look like they’re about to fly we go in guns blazing,” she suggests.

Steve and Tony stare at one another, glowering.

 

Steve has not been able to seek physical release in almost two weeks. They’ve been working on taking down the terrorist cell since the bombing and there simply hasn’t been time. He feels the itch under his skin, the desire clawing at him, and he finds himself staring at Tony with naked desire more often than not. Has he noticed? Probably. Tony doesn’t miss much. It’s galling how much he wants to touch.

The mission is a resounding success. Despite Tony’s warnings, the terrorist cell has not seen them coming and is completely surprised when they kick in the door and start making arrests. They have weapons, of course, guns and also smoke bombs that fill the air with poison gas. But the Avengers are prepared for this and everyone makes it out of the fight alive. The two leaders of the terror cell, illegal arms dealers who Stark Industries used to supply, are arrested and taken into SHIELD custody. Clint and Natasha fly with them to make sure nothing goes wrong while they are taken to holding cells.

Bruce, Tony, and Steve climb onto the jet together to return home. Tony takes off the armor, letting it unfold around him like a complex piece of origami, and then climbs into the pilot seat. His hair is a sweaty mess. Steve sits as far away from him as he can get. Bruce stands, holding onto the railing.

“Hold up, Tony,” Bruce says suddenly. “You know what, I think I’m going to stay here for a while.”

“Vacation time?” Tony asks, turning to look over his shoulder.

“There was a lot of dangerous stuff inside that compound. I want to make sure it’s handled properly and no one else gets blown up,” Bruce explains, opening the door of the plane and climbing out. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

 _No_ , Steve thinks frantically. _Don’t leave me alone with him_.

“Take care, Brucie,” Tony calls and presses a button to seal the door. “Looks like it’s just you and me _mon Capitaine_.”

“Looks like it,” Steve agrees and glances away.

 

Tony plays rock and roll music too loudly on the jet’s speakers, most likely to get a rise out of his companion. Can he tell how on edge Steve is? How hard he is trying to just keep control over himself? Can he smell the frustration and arousal coming off of him in waves? Steve thinks he can and Tony is prodding him anyway.

He puts the plane on autopilot, spinning his chair around and jumping up with the kind of energy only Tony has after a fight. He moves around the small space, scrounging up two glasses and a half-empty bottle of amber liquid. He pours for both of them, handing Steve the glass. Their fingers touch.

“To a successful mission,” Tony announces, raising his glass.

Steve echoes him and they clink plastic cups. The alcohol is expensive, smooth and burns pleasantly all the way down his throat and belly. Tony finishes his in a single gulp. He moves to sit beside Steve, which is aggravating in and of itself. There is so much space here, so many other places he could have chosen to be, but instead he is pressed right up against Steve’s side, hot and untouchable.

“What kind of music do you like?” Tony asks. His dark eyes are intense.

“Uh, well, I don’t really know. Most music these days sounds a lot like noise to me.”

“Were you a fan of swing? Big band?”

“Honestly, I really only listened to folk music,” Steve confesses.

“Woody Guthrie?” Tony asks, hitting it right on the nose.

“How’d you guess?”

Tony smiles and winks. Steve wants with every cell in his body to grab him, to hold him, to _have_ him. Can Tony see the war inside of him playing out on his face?

“I know you better than you think,” Tony whispers and kisses him on the neck. Steve jolts like he’s received an electric shock, his entire body coming alive for the first time since he was thawed out from the ice. He can feel every nerve ending and practically hear the excitement singing in his blood.

Tony’s beard scratches against his skin as he licks and sucks the skin on the underside of Steve’s jaw. He maneuvers himself into the other man’s lap, straddling Steve’s torso. Steve’s hands land lightly on his thighs, feeling the taut muscle underneath the denim. Tony kisses his way up to Steve’s ear, nipping the earlobe and letting his tongue soothe the ache. Steve groans, adjusting himself, rubbing his dick against whatever part of Tony he can reach.

“Steve,” Tony whispers in his ear. “I want you.”

That is all it takes. The dam gives way and Steve loses all of the careful self-restraint he has spent the last few years constructing. He grabs Tony’s head, twists it and seizes his mouth in a possessive kiss. He propels them both backwards, spilling them onto the hard metal floor of the jet and ripping at whatever clothing he can get. Tony’s t-shirt splits down the middle like tissue paper and the seams on his jeans pop when Steve takes hold of them. He is not delicate or timid or bashful or all the things that people sometimes mistake him for. He is an animal seeking release.

Tony raises his hips, wriggling as Steve wrenches his jeans down around his ankles. They are trading bruising kisses, Tony’s tongue in Steve’s mouth and then the other way around. Steve’s hands ghost over Tony’s nipples and he gasps, then cries out when Steve pinches them. Steve’s cock is thick with blood, hard enough to break rocks.

“Fuck me,” Tony moans, reaching down and fondling Steve’s hardon with his clever calloused fingers. “I have...in my pocket,” he gestures to his pants which are now well beyond his reach.

Later, it will seem significant to Steve that Tony packed lube in the pocket of his jeans while they were on a mission, but right now he doesn’t question it one little bit. He reaches down, rooting around in the pocket of Tony’s pants until he comes up with a little packet that he rips open with his teeth. He spills it on his hands, on his cock and wastes no time in shoving his forefinger into Tony’s body.

“Oh, Christ!” Tony yells. “Ah...Steve. Yeah. You want your dick in there, don’t you? Fucking that tight little hole.”

Steve kisses him to shut him up, biting at Tony’s lower lip. He adds a second finger, pulling them in and out, sliding them back and forth, feeling Tony’s muscles clench around him. When he bends down to lick and suck Tony’s nipples the other man’s filthy mouth starts up again.

“You’ve imagined this before, haven’t you? Taking control, making me learn my lesson. You know what I think about when I jerk off, Steve? Taking your cum down my throat. You forcing me to my knees just like this after a mission - ah!” he cries as Steve withdraws his fingers suddenly.

For a second, Steve considers flipping Tony onto his stomach. This was how he fucked every other guy. But instead he hauls Tony’s legs up onto his shoulders, positioning himself at the other man’s entrance and slowly, so slowly, sliding home. Both of them cry out, Tony’s eyes squeezed shut and his fingers digging into Steve’s flanks. He pushes and pushes until he is fully seated, buried balls-deep in Tony Stark’s ass. It is dizzying.

Tony looks up at him with those hypnotic eyes, handsome face lost in ecstasy. It is the most erotic moment of Steve’s life.

“Fuck me as hard as you can,” Tony pleads. “I need you.”

Steve pulls out a few inches and then snaps his hips, making Tony cry out. He is so tight, muscles grasping at Steve’s cock, milking it with every thrust. Steve knows he won’t last long. He reaches down and strokes Tony’s cock with his big hand, smearing precome all around the head.

“Tell me you want it,” he growls.

“I want it so bad, Steve,” Tony answers immediately. “Are you gonna give it to me?”

Steve pounded his ass in response. Tony cries out, arching his hips. His fingers trail all over Steve’s neck, his nipples, his stomach, tracing the lines of muscles as they go.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Tony moans. “Incredible. Perfect.”

“Shut up,” Steve grinds out, bracing his hands on Tony’s legs and thrusting with as much force as he dares.

“Why? You don’t - ah, fuck - like hearing how fucking much I want you? How insanely hot you are? How much I love your big cock pounding away inside of me? How badly I want to take your load?”

Steve feels his release building. His thrusts are punishing now, forcing Tony along the floor towards the back of the jet.

“I’m gonna cum, Steve. You’re going to make me cum,” Tony says, his voice wavering. “What do you want to hear me say when I cum for you?”

“Say my name,” Steve says between clenched teeth.

Tony fists his own cock furiously, throwing his head back. Steve watches carefully, memorizing every detail. Tony’s mouth opens wide, his ass clenches painfully tight, and cum spurts from the head of his dick.

“STEVE! AH!” he yells.

Steve bares down, fucking Tony hard and fast until his own orgasm builds up and he comes harder than he has in his life, roaring like a dragon. He comes and comes and comes and then when it is over he twitches through the aftershocks. Tony’s hands smooth up and down his sides, fingers light but not ticklish.

“Wow,” Tony says, smiling.

Steve pulls off, stands up unsteadily and starts fixing his clothing. He doesn’t know what Tony expected, but this wasn’t it. There is a flash of pain in the other man’s eyes and he can see Tony put the walls back in place between them.

“This can’t happen again,” Steve says.

“Don’t fucking start,” Tony snaps. “Spare me the disclaimers.”

They fly back to New York in silence, neither one so much as looking at the other.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of big smoopy Steve/Tony love fests, so I wanted to challenge myself to write a fic that is not, in fact, a love story. No one gets what they want in the end, no babies are adopted, and there is no, I repeat no, cuddling. It was an interesting challenge, but certainly not as satisfying to produce as something where everyone ends up happy and in love. Guess I"ll have to return to that next time! 
> 
> I'd love to know what you think! I welcome all input in the comments, good bad or indifferent. I really appreciate anyone who takes the time to share, even just a little bit. Thanks for reading!


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